Posts Tagged ‘Pooooooost-Mooooodernism’

Today, I interrupt our regularly scheduled programing outlining my genealogy and break from the tea time tete-a-tetes that shall hence forth compromise this cirque virt-u-al and bring you instead know some lightness, some laughter and some utter loveliness.

What do I bring–nothing other than a gem of a clip from that T.V. show to keep all other T.V. shows from talkin’ smack; that show that makes the Office (which I totally adore) feel like a 7th grade history video shown when the teacher is out; ; that artful, brilliant triumph that makes you mourn the fact that trilogies consist of only 3!

Those of you who know my sordid past might recall that, in my far off youth, I was a lady of the musical theater. Before Mozart and Donizetti wooed me away from Sondheim, Rodgers and Hammerstein et. all LEGIT, talented musical theater composers were the leading men in my musical life.

Than I went to Stagedoor manor–and the shallowness and superficiality practically strangled and suffocated me…but I escaped to see the light.*

Alright, so it wasn’t just Stagedoor that made me jettison microphones and choose dead Europeans over amplification and my vernacular, the classical world was always calling my name–I mean, let’s be (quasi) real for a split second, and say the less-than-brainy, washed out world of the modern musical theater doesn’t really jive with my whole 7 year old grandma get up. It’s like asking Nathaniel Hawthorne to read at Beatnik cafe: both have the potential to be great, but they don’t so much interrelate.

Regardless of your feelings about musical theater–past, present and future–I do believe fans, haters and closet fans/haters, can ALL appreciate Mr. Darren Nichols’ expert, thorough and truly enlightening definition of just WHAT the heck MT is.

Stay tuned, friends and phantoms, for further updates on Operation TinCanDaDA as well as the launch of tea time talks with our yet to be revealed premiere guest. All I’ll say, is he or she is a member of my “family”.

Stay imaginary,

The Lady, the Lover, Le Fay

* I still enjoy quality musical theater; but the chosen adjectives refer to both the state of the CURRENT musical theater as evidenced by the commercial crap littering Broadway as well as to the general qualities ascribed to the CLICHE musical theater performer. But I don’t hate; I still do musicals; I think Jason Robert Brown is a freakin’ genius….perhaps the Bernstein of our times…

So as this attempt at blogging is an overly modern ambition for a girl belonging to a bygone era, I commence the first chapter of this quest by announcing the weekly mission shall be trifold. But before such lofty, tri-part formats are outlined and enhanced, let it be known that this here circus, in addiiton to being a general cabaret Voltaire intended to celebrate art, life, liberty and the pursuit of so-called happiness, shall hitherto ALSO serve as a launching pad for

TinCANdAdA

What IS this operation concerning tin-cans and that tempromental past time of Tzara and Breton? ‘Tis a rhyme for your eyes and a spectacle for your ears; it’s how Mahler mixed with Joni Mitchell tastes; it is the art of communicaiton in a post-modern, post-mechanical age of DIGITAL reproduction….

all of which, likely, didn’t divulge too much–I mean, who do you think I am Focoult? I’m all for structure, but I sometimes pretend otherwise being fanciful, frilly and prone to battle deathgods at midnight while frocked in lilacs and lillies.

I gotta play it cool, man, (ala that master snide shark, chief charlatan and captain of the cop-out brigade Jacques Derrida himself) and say I can’t tell you WHAT it is…but I can elaborate on what it is not.

TinCANdada is NOT:

* A hip, gotta grove like the grapevine, IT new dance. We DO endorse el tango. Que sexissimo yo yo!

* A Russian expletive lamenting the price of vodka here in the supposedly united states of Ameri(de)ca(y).

* A lost Pynchon novella.

And while we could play 20 questions until academic philosophy once again becomes relevant (which is to say NEVER), we shall keep it at 3 revelations a day—at least for now–it’s ever so good to want.

But one thing I shall share: tinCANdAdA is ecrire, parlar, chanter, peinture, celebrer, vivir et etre. It is not concerned with real, practical or common sense. It prefers tea to coffee, O’neil over Bernard Shaw, N*Sycn over the Backstreet Boys.

It doesn’t believe in sole it believes in SOULS.

And what do souls need to do? Well, Plato tells us souls have wings; we buy that; we support that motion (raises placard enthusiastically).

So while souls flit and float, they also need to chit and chat and we at tinCANdada believe IN and SPECIALIZE* in communication. Ze art of communication; ze sacred art of soul speaking to soul awash, adrift in the post-modern wasteland.

And as to me and my curls, I (along with my allies in absurdism) wish to live as we shouldn’t be allowed. This includes, but is not limited to:

speaking the truth

saying I LOVE YOU

exclaiming I ADORE (insert object to which one feels particularly attached or enchanted by)

smiling at strangers

wearing tutu’s and or three-pieced suits

waltzing rather than walking

stealthly crunching soy-crisps in sub-terreanean libraries

CELEBRATING EVERY AND ALL DAYS—despite the sorrow. Joy LIVES in sorrow, which is to say, it IS sorrow.

Celebrating ze SeLf (whatever that is…)!

Questing ON towards ze grail

Playing lacrosse with Madame Sostris

Returning to the beginning, to know the place for the first time

etc. etc. etc. yada yada yada and all that jaaaaaaaaaaaaz

Details shall be gradually divulged–all in due time mes amis; and while the world says keep it real, I say STAY IMAGINARY kit-kats.

I surely shall (at least try to); picking treasures from tree hollows; spreading fairydust in a world that’s more concerned with the swineflu; living out LOUD in technicolor surroundsound! Dulce de leche!

So stay imaginary friends and start counting the minutes, until we quest further into the land of fantastical lairs and labrynths; where princesses masquerade as dragons; where we scam the world with improvised tomfoolery; where we say freakin’ YES, damn-straighter than straight, YES to life.